SOFIA SOL

Dad jogs his head up once, telling his best friend, “Your daughter should go into politics.” He wipes his eyes from laughing. “Sage, you did good.”

“Thank you, Jett. And Daddy, you need to trust me more.”

Honey Badger grunts, “I trust you!”

“Do you? Because I just defused what could have been a bad situation, and you almost lost it when I started talking to him.”

“I backed you up, didn’t I? Could have dragged you into the house, but I didn’t. No, I fuckin’ didn’t.” Under his breath he mumbles on his way to the garage, “I need to ride, blow off some steam.”

Dad locks eyes with me. “I know your intention wasn’t to defuse a damn thing, Sofia Sol!” He raises his voice to inform his best friend. “I’ll join you, H.B. No easy task watching our daughters flaunt their sexuality!”

“Hey!” I call after him. All I get is the back of his hand flying in the air, shutting me up. “Mom, that’s not fair. I’m an adult for over a decade now! I can do what and who I want.”

Am I defending myself, or the fact that I broke a Cipher rule tonight? There was no ranch-hand, and that just makes this worse. Dad is judging me, and it hurts.

With her arms crossed, Mom says, “You mean more to your father than you realize.”

On that enigmatic statement, she follows him.

“Hey!” I call out.

She doesn’t even give me the wave.

Everyone but Celia, Sage, Atlas and Luke, go inside, silent and getting out of here where it’s nice and awkward. Blood-family business is hard to watch, because even a biker can’t control it. Too many emotions come up that we don’t deal with well.

Give us something to punch and we’re happy. Otherwise…gotta go. Bye.

“They’re quick to temper,” Celia quietly explains, “Just like you, so don’t take it personally.”

“I’m pretty sure my dad just—”

“He didn’t call you a slut. He’s just always going to have a hard time picturing you with men. Usually he doesn’t see it, but when you came back tonight…” She stares off toward the garage, which we can’t see from here. It’s around the side of the house, out of view from the road, on purpose. “And then seeing you pretend-flirt with the cops, it’s just too easy to picture you…you know.”

Sage digs a smooth rock from the dirt and wipes it off. “Sofia’s just sexually active. There’s a difference between that and a slut.”

We hear footsteps creak from the porch and look over as Tonk Jr., Celia’s brother, walks to the edge as though standing at a poorly lit pulpit, his glasses low on his nose. He missed all the excitement but did overhear Sage. “In truth, no woman should ever be called a slut. She is either interested in sex and exerting her personal right and decision to partake in sexual exercise wherever and whenever she wants to, of her own choice and fully aligned with her personal desires and higher motivations. This woman owns her sexuality and enjoys it freely just like she would a good meal. We don’t always eat at the same restaurant, do we?”

The five of us blink at him.

Now we’re waiting for his explanation of the second option he mentioned. When it doesn’t immediately come, Celia prods him, “Or…?”

“Or,” he squints at the stars, “she thinks little of herself and is searching for a man to give her life meaning, thinks that by offering her body to anyone who wants it, she could be happy. But she wrongly mistakes sex for love, which she truly wants in her heart, but doesn’t think she deserves. In such case she is still not a slut, but a lost soul who needs healing and self-love in order to find what she truly desires. What we all truly desire. Connection based on respect, trust. Under the umbrella of those rare feelings is, of course, the desire for freedom to be who we truly are and be loved for it.” Tonk Jr. motions to me, palm up. “Sofia Sol is the first example.” He heads inside, shoving one hand in his khaki pocket as he opens the door. He utters a final, “There are no sluts.”

We stare at the old screen slapping the doorjamb three times, like fading exclamation points.

Celia, Sage and I exchange a look.

But it’s Atlas who calls it out. “That guy isn’t like us.”

My eyes flick to him. The sound of his voice hit me in an odd way, since tonight I heard him moan for the first time. He’s not just Atlas-who-I-grew-up-with anymore. We eye each other, trying to keep our faces blank, as Celia sighs, “My brother is an enigma, it’s true.”

So as not to betray the secret, I tear my eyes away and land on his brother, because I can feel Luke is staring at me. Sure enough, his frown is trained on mine like he knows.

An explosion of motorcycle engines shatters the silence. Three headlamps transform Luke and Atlas into shadowy silhouettes as Mom, Dad and Honey Badger rip up the gravel, speeding down the path and cutting hard turns onto our endless driveway. They’ll ride the streets of South Vacherie, Louisiana for a few hours, release the stress of being a parent. We all watch them, except for Luke.

“What?” I demand. “Why are you staring at me?”

He jogs his chin up and asks me point blank, “You bang someone tonight, Soph, is that what this was about?”

“Yeah, because I hooked up with someone the cops came to our house.”

“I don’t mean that.” He pulls at his wet shirt. “Did you?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeah, who cares,” Atlas punches his arm, sounding believable.

On the heel of his heavy boot, Luke turns and walks off into the darkness.

Breaking free of our circle, Sage chases after him. “Wait up!”

To get Atlas away from me until I know how to handle this shift between us, I point to his siblings. “Aren’t you gonna join them?”

His jaw ticks, then dips in agreement. He strolls off in an unhurried pace.

A normal person would suggest they change into dry clothes, but there’s nobody here by that description.

Celia runs her hand through her hair and holds it back while she eyes the trio like she wants to go along, but thinks better of it. “I wish I was closer to Tonk Jr., like those three are with each other. You ever wish you had a brother or a sister, Sofia Sol?”

“I do have one. You. We’re better than blood. We’re sisters by choice.”

A beautiful smile grows into a grin, happiness dancing in her eyes. “We choose everything,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“Damn straight we do.” I slip my arm around her waist as we head to the old porch steps. “I’m starving. Think there’s any of Melodi’s jambalaya left?”

“Nope.”

“Bummer.”

“You’re lucky I saved you some.”

I fake surprise, because she always saves me some if I’m not around. “You did? You’re too good to me.”

She smirks, “Damn straight I am.”